Nutcracked
by Invisible Ranger
Summary: A-Team holiday special! Decker sets his sights on catching the A-Team just in time for Christmas. Will he succeed, or will the Team make sure he gets nothing but a lump of coal?


Nutcracked

by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2010

Disclaimer: TAT belongs to the late SJC and Universal. I do this strictly for the sugarplums and not for profit.

Dedicated: To all my fellow A-Team fans. You guys are sweeter than a box full of Christmas chocolates. Happy Holidays, and may Murdy Claus bring you your heart's desire.

xxx

Colonel Decker disliked…no…_hated _Christmas.

Not the holiday itself. Captain Crane, it turned out, had to leave unexpectedly to take care of his ailing father in Seattle. His replacement was a skinny buck lieutenant with bright red crew-cut hair, a mouth that wouldn't stay shut for longer than five seconds, and a relentlessly optimistic outlook on life.

And the kid's name was actually _Christmas_. Floyd Christmas.

Decker thought it was his CO's idea of a joke. Or maybe payback for all his failed attempts at catching Smith and the others. The joke, if there were one, was squarely on him.

This guy didn't have the killer instinct needed to catch the A-Team. He didn't even seem like a soldier. He was a reject from Santa's Elves Central Casting. And Decker knew he was stuck with him until Crane got back. January at least.

_Dammit._

"Walkin' in a wiiiiinter wonderlaaaaaand," warbled Christmas off-key, trying to sing along in harmony with Perry Como and failing miserably. "C'mon, Colonel, don't you like this stuff?"

Angrily, Decker snapped off the car radio. "Not while I'm working. We're supposed to be keeping our eyes open for Baracus' van. Sergeant Krengel said he may have spotted it three blocks east. You listening to me, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," Christmas answered sheepishly, his cheeks as bright as his hair. "You know, I've been doing some thinking…"

Decker rolled his eyes. "About what?" he asked, bored, as the car turned onto another bland side street with no sign of the A-Team or their van.

"Well," said Christmas, "I really read up on the A-Team before I reported for my assignment with you, sir…"

_Oh, no. They've assigned me an Eager Beaver._

"…and Colonel Smith, especially, sir. It seems like there's one thing you haven't tried yet to catch them."

Decker was just curious enough to ask whether the kid was hopelessly naïve or else had a death wish. "And what is that?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Christmas' face was a fine shade of scarlet. "Have you ever considered, well, you know, using their own strategies against them, sir?"

"I'm not destroying government property or putting innocent civilians at risk just to catch Smith," Decker snapped. "They want to play their little G.I. Joe games but I have to stick to the RoE at all times, son. That doesn't mean I won't catch them. Eventually."

"No, that's not what I meant, sir," said the younger man. "What if you put on a clever disguise to try and catch Smith and the others? He'd never suspect it."

Through the anger, Decker saw that the kid had a point. It wouldn't be breaking any rules, technically. And his superiors always said to use _any means necessary, _the caveat being to play by their rules. It might be worth a shot. To catch a fox, you had to think like one.

Over the car radio came Sgt. Krengel's voice. He sounded excited.

"_Colonel Decker, we've positively ID'd the A-Team's van. Just a block north of your position. At the Civic Auditorium on Clare."_

Fighting a triumphant smile, Decker answered him. "Roger that. We're on our way." To Christmas, he snapped, "Make it quick, Lieutenant."

Flicking on the chaser lights, they sped off.

xxx

The van was indeed parked in the alley behind the auditorium, as if trying to be inconspicuous. Hundreds of cars were jammed in the actual parking lot, and happy-looking people were filing inside.

"What is this?" Decker barked as a Volkswagen blared its horn at them. "Somebody invite the A-Team to their kid's wedding?"

"No, sir." Christmas pointed to the marquee. "Look." In large letters, it read:

_Santa Anita Ballet Troupe Presents Tchaikovsky's _The Nutcracker. _With Special Guest Dancers. One Day Only!_

Decker shook his head. This had to be another one of Smith's traps. It smacked of his stupid sense of theatrics. And the big van was unmistakable, which meant that at least one, and maybe all three, of the A-Team were inside.

"I always loved _The Nutcracker_," Christmas said, maneuvering the sedan around to the front of the lot. "Really puts you in the holiday spirit, you know?"

But the colonel's mind wasn't on sugarplums and candy canes. He was already thinking of a way to catch Smith, once and for all, like a walnut between the metal prongs of an actual nutcracker. With the same results.

_Smith is gonna spend the next thirty Christmases looking out from behind iron bars. _

"We're going in, Lieutenant. That van stays exactly where it is, so have Sgt. Krengel bring his men in for backup. If Smith or the others are in there, they don't leave. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Christmas saluted sharply.

A warm rush of anticipation was building inside Decker, and it had nothing to do with holiday cheer or ghosts of Christmas past or present. It was the thought of the greatest Christmas present ever: Smith, and his men, behind bars at last.

He grinned and pulled his .357 from its holster. "Let's roll."

"How about a Yule roll, sir? With eggnog?"

"Shut up and follow me."

xxx

Inside, the house lights were dimmed and the orchestra was playing warm-ups. A few members of the audience gasped as the armed MPs rushed past, and children giggled, perhaps thinking it was all part of the show.

Decker was busy scanning the many faces for anyone who bore the slightest resemblance to Hannibal Smith. It wasn't going to be an easy task; the auditorium easily had a thousand seats, and all were full this afternoon. He'd assigned Christmas to start on the other side and work toward the stage.

An old man was sitting on the aisle seat to Decker's left. The colonel looked him up and down suspiciously. Might be Smith; might not.

"I didn't realize we were at war," the man said, noticing Decker's sidearm. "Last time I was shot at on Christmas was the Battle of the Bulge, sonny."

He couldn't be Smith, Decker realized. Too short…and he was missing his left arm from the elbow down. Even Smith wasn't that good.

"Sir, we're looking for military fugitives. We'll try not to get in your way. Enjoy the show," Decker said, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Somewhere on the other side of the theatre came a hysterical feminine shriek and a cry of pain. Decker sprinted over to where Lt. Christmas was writhing in pain on the aisle of Section C.

"What is it now, Lieutenant?"

"I'll tell you," announced a very large, very angry-looking black woman. "This honky idiot assaulted me and tried to steal my jewelry. What's the matter with people nowadays? Ain't got no respect. You're lucky I don't sue, mister."

Looking upward, Decker saw that she wore elegant peacock feather earrings and several delicate gold chains over a flowered dress. Christmas had honest-to-God mistaken her for Baracus. Which, if Baracus had ever decided to dress in drag and get rid of his Mohawk, might have been an easy mistake to make.

"I'll handle this. I'm terribly sorry, ma'am." This was even worse than mistaking the amputee for Smith.

"Sorry don't begin to cover it!" the woman shouted at the two MPs as they hurried away.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Decker hissed at Christmas. "We're supposed to be trying to catch the A-Team, not molesting old ladies!"

The orchestra, meanwhile, launched into the overture for _The Nutcracker _as the curtain opened. The audience made the requisite _oohs _and _ahs._

"Sorry, sir," the young man apologized. "Don't you think we should at least try my plan? We're pretty obvious in these uniforms, and Smith would never think to look for us if we were in disguise."

Decker thought about it. If they were going to pull it off, the time was now.

"We're going in. Backstage, Lieutenant."

xxx

The last time Decker had felt this singularly foolish…

Well, there'd been a lot of those times. The time Smith buzzed him in the helicopter, or maybe the time he'd baited him into trying to jump Topeko Pass in his car. Hard to say exactly which time.

The "toy soldier" outfit itched, especially in the inseam, and was two sizes too small. They sure didn't make these things for comfort. Christmas wore one too, but he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

"This is so exciting," he whispered as loud as he dared from where they stood, waiting in the wings. "Didn't you always dream about doing something like this?"

_Not exactly. But I've always dreamed of catching Smith. And with an audience, too._

The ballet itself was boring to Decker. He'd never understood the appeal of watching a bunch of pasty men and women in tutus jump around on a stage with no dialogue for two hours. And this was just the first act.

When the man in black entered stage left, he froze. It was Smith. Unmistakeably. He wasn't even trying to disguise himself, other than an eyepatch and a slight limp.

Decker grinned. Now, all he had to do was catch Peck and Baracus.

"Do we go now, sir?" asked Christmas with the eagerness of a hound having caught the scent of fox.

"Not yet. Wait," ordered Decker.

Dancing, dancing and more dancing. Despite his skepticism, Decker found himself drawn into the story, since there was nothing he could do at the moment but watch. The little girl with her nutcracker, given to her by _SMITH_, then she falls asleep, and _SMITH _casts a magical spell to send her into the land of sweets…

"Sir! Look!"

The nutcracker had, through the use of stage lighting and plenty of dry ice vapor, transformed himself into a life-size dancer who looked just like Peck. And he was crossing swords with a "Mouse King" who happened to be very large and very black.

The A-Team. Right in front of him for the taking, like cookies left out for Santa. Decker couldn't believe his eyes. So easy.

"Move in very closely behind me. Don't make a sound," he ordered Christmas. The two of them made their entrance behind the snow-backdrop, the easier to sneak up on their quarry.

"Should I be dancing?"

"Shut up."

Decker made the first move, landing lightly as a cat behind the man in black. "Make one move and I'll blow you from here to the North Pole, Smith."

Everyone, including the Prince and the Mouse King, stopped dead in their tracks. The audience let out a collective gasp.

"You're completely surrounded. Don't try anything stupid," Decker said, still waiting for a response. The silence was somehow troubling.

"What the blazes are you talking about?" said the man in black, who was obviously shaking. "And who's this Smith? My name is Mervyn Hotchkiss. I'm a ballet dancer."

"Of course you're Smith! Stop playing games. You're under arrest."

But when Decker tried to pull the long-haired wig from the man's head, he only got a yelp of pain in response.

"Sorry, Decker," came an all-too-familiar voice, "it's curtains for you."

Smith…the real Smith…entered stage right with a burst of fire from his Mini-14. Baracus appeared from the trapdoor on the stage floor similarly armed. Peck appeared from the orchestra pit holding not a baton, but an Uzi.

"Folks, we'd like to apologize upfront," Smith addressed the shell-shocked audience along with the stunned dancers. "The military thought they were going to interrupt this timeless holiday masterpiece by trying to catch the A-Team. Unfortunately for them, we were onto them, so we had to put a little twist in old Tchaikovsky's tale. We hope you won't mind."

Furious, and for the moment, helpless, Decker glared at his old nemesis. "You're not getting away, Smith. There's a whole squadron out there surrounding this place."

"Oh, is that so?" Peck said. "Colonel, he says we're surrounded."

"Yeah, he's right," added Baracus. "How we gettin' outta here, man?"

"That being so, always remember that there's more than one way to exit a stage," said Smith, and whistled loudly.

The eyes of the audience were drawn upward, where a rope ladder had dropped from the skylight, and a pink sparkly apparition floated downward like a piece of a dream. The Sugar Plum Fairy. She was also holding a Mini-14.

"Decker, it's been fun, but we really have other plans for the holidays. We'd get you a fruitcake but you'd probably send it right back." Smith began to climb the rope ladder after his men.

Immediately Decker moved for his dropped sidearm. Mistake number one. The Sugar Plum Fairy rattled off several shots, which ricocheted and careened off the stage wildly.

Mistake number two was forgetting the open trapdoor. The last thing he saw as he plunged downward was Hannibal Smith taunting him, saying "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

And hearing the audience's wild applause.

_Christmas, after I catch Smith, I'm going to kill you._

xxx

Atop the roof of the Civic Auditorium were three men, one Sugar Plum Fairy, and a fully gassed Bell JetRanger bearing the logo of a local TV station.

"Shall we, o merry gentlemen?" Hannibal offered, trading fire with the MPs below who had spotted them.

"Hannibal, I ain't gettin' on that thi…"

B.A.'s protest was cut short with a single swing of the cricket bat in Face's arms. "We'll have to keep one of these around," joked Face. "It's perfect, for the job, isn't it?"

Between the two of them, they maneuvered the unconscious B.A. into the helicopter. It wasn't easy, especially under fire, but it was something they'd done many times before.

"Go, Murdock!" bellowed Hannibal over the sound of the rotors. In seconds, the Civic Auditorium was behind them and they were soaring over the now-dark skies of Los Angeles.

"So, you think this caper puts us on the 'naughty' list?" asked Face from the safety of the cockpit.

Hannibal laughed. "You think we weren't already?"

"I just thought I'd ask. What were you thinking back there?"

"It's easy," said Hannibal. "I figured that Decker would figure that we'd try to be in disguise, and thus want to disguise himself this time, so I made sure that the ballet company hired dancers who looked just enough like us so we could catch him in the act. Beautiful strategy, don't you think?" He lit a victory cigar.

"That makes no sense." Face shook his head. "Hannibal, you're crazy."

"Speaking of crazy," Murdock, still in the pink frothy mess that was his Sugar Plum costume, "I think I deserve some thanks for pulling off my part, Faceman."

Face groaned. "Murdock, why are you wearing that?"

The pilot batted his heavily made-up eyelashes. "They didn't have a toy soldier costume in my size. And my legs look great in tights."

"How'd I let you guys talk me into spending my Christmas Eve this way?" Face asked as the chopper soared over the glittering L.A. skyline.

"Admit it, Lieutenant, you think you'd have more fun handing out presents at the orphanage?"

"Or kissing some cutie pie ballerina?" Murdock offered.

Face thought about it. "I guess not. Maybe it is a lot more fun to be on the naughty list," he admitted.

"That's the spirit, muchacho!" Murdock leaned over and planted a kiss on his friend's cheek.

"Hey! Not the face!"

"I love it when a Christmas plan comes together," said Hannibal as they flew through the starry sky to points north.

_Fini_

_ Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my readers. You guys are the best! ~Heather "miz"_


End file.
